Along Came John
by Mrs.JohnWatsonXOXOXSteffieG
Summary: Sherlock's life teaching English to Syrian refugees is going nowhere until he meets John Watson and everything changes. When the Fates (#Moriarty) threaten to tear them apart, will they ever find the sensational love that they deserve?
1. Part I - Birth

**PART I - BIRTH**

 **Chapter 1**

A/N: Hello, Sherlock fans this is my first fic so plz be nice! 3 3 3 #TriggerWarning for Syria

Tags: Future MPREG, Over-protective!John, Virgin!Sherlock, Stalker!Sherlock, Syria, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock awoke to the bright sunlight of his tent, the gentle breathing of the Syrian children undisturbed by his troubled thoughts. There was a leather-bound journal near the tattered garbage bag he was using as a blanket…the same journal he'd had since he left home at age 18…given up his trust fund, thrown away a seat reading Astroscience at Oxford, and embarked on a 15 year journey of Voluntourism. The journal was bound by a gold clasp. He had harvested this gold alongside the child slaves as a prisoner of the Revolutionary United Front in Sierra Leone.

Of course, he thought, that was before he had been given the skin of the last Asian Tree-Squirrel…The skin that now inundated the journal in a leather cover that years later still hadn't lost its furry consciousness. Finally, he had escaped Sierra Leone & Asia…stumbled into Ethiopia where he met a beautiful Shaman Priestess who had carved a delicate pentacle into the cover.

15 years, he thought, and what had he managed to accomplish? Providing an impoverished African village with the gift of calculus. Finding spiritual enlightenment in an abandoned Tibetan monastery. For all his worldliness and intelligence and his conventionally attractive hot bod…he had never felt the touch.

One thing was for sure, his true love wasn't waiting for him in Calais. In 12 hours he would be back in London, promising the impoverished Syrian children he would write when he found the time. Sherlock's own childhood had been ruined by his wealthy, distant parents. The Shaman Priestess believed his upbringing was in fact directly related to his virginity.

 _London._ It had been a lifetime.

"'Ello poppet, care fo' a jelly doughnut?" 10 minutes after touching down in Heathrow, Sherlock had already been accosted by a brutally ugly barista in the Heathrow Starbucks.

"Hold the dough and jelly, keep the nut," Sherlock proclaimed.

"Oooohhh. Oi verry much loike a man 'oo 'as the balls t'order nuts," exclaimed a man in rumpled striped sweater. Sherlock spun around so he could gaze at the man who was nearly a foot or two shorter than him with golden-brown hair. He saw the man lean heavily on a cane, though he held himself with a degree of dignity that was A-plus for the average London cripple***.

(***A/N: Trigger warning for Anti-PC!Sherlock)

"I'm Sherlock, good sir. What is your name?"

"Dr. John Watson. Sherlock...Sp'osen that's Sherlock _Holmes_ then, innit bruv?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Fink it? 'Oo says oi fink it, oi bloody well know it, yeah? You're related t' Mycroft 'olmes."

"I am, indeed. Mycroft is my brother. Estranged. Caught up in the wealth and promiscuity of high society London," Sherlock sighed, shaking his head mournfully at the thought of Mycroft baking the potato with his university buddies under white linen table cloths at the supper club. Such indulgence. Sherlock had rejected such things, but now he wanted them and he wanted them from the man who stood before him in the striped sweater. So petite, so easily overpowered…Dr. Watson wouldn't have lasted a single day in the mines of Sierra Leone, harvesting blood diamonds to fund the corrupt militia. Sherlock wanted to protect him…cover Dr. Watson with his body like an area rug made out of Asian Tree-Squirrel.

"Mister 'olmes, do you fink oi care 'bout a bloody 'olmes fam'ly riv'ry? Oi've got better fings t'do than t'give the 'olmes bruvahs the time o' day, you git me?"

"Oh I get you. How about I get you a drink, Dr. Watson?"

"Very will then, oi s'pose a Baby Giraffe of Pig's Ears wont kill a man, yeah?"

"No, I would never want any harm to come to you, my dear Watson," Sherlock cooed. They went to Sherlock's new apartment where he pulled a six pack of gluten free apple cider from a medium sized ice bucket near the wooden door. They sat down on the couch together. John arranged some of the white pillows to make himself more comfortable. They picked out a movie. Sherlock moved his ankle when it started to fall asleep. John stretched part way through the movie. They talked a bit about their lives. Sherlock showed John his journal. They ate some snacks. They logged into to Mycroft's Netflix and watched some CSI Miami. Sherlock looked at the time.

"Dr. Watson, it's too late for you to leave!" Sherlock exclaimed. The streets of London are so dangerous now."

"Oi kin git myself 'ome, you posh git. Thank you, verry much, yeah?"

"John…I'm asking you to stay." Sherlock begged as he felt a single tear welling up in the corner of his left eye. "Please."

John could see the hunger in Sherlock's bright blue eyes and he swept the well-read edition of today's New York Times off the coffee table. Sherlock could feel his breath hitch in anticipation…was this it? Was he finally going to lose his virginity?

The past hour of watching movies had been, in a word…extraordinarily special. John had a keen intellect; he had been able to guess the end to every episode of CSI Miami. He always knew who the killer was. But tonight the killer was Dr. John Watson himself. The victim?

 _Sherlock's heart._

"Oi fink you should take you clothes off wiv me, bruv," John cooed, ripping off his shirt. Finally! God…and under that shirt…muscles and scars from John's time in the Balkins. He had talked about the war only briefly. Sherlock knew what war was like…he had lain in the abandoned trenches of Normandy, praying up to a sky of apathetic stars. Even now, his heart was at war. He was so terrified of falling in love after observing his parent's frigid marriage, more cold than the Christmas Eve he had spent locked in a windowless Winnebago while his parents whipped Mycroft's backside with a 400-year-old Stradivarius Violin. Cold…like his father's eyes when Sherlock dropped out of Eton to help …but no…can't think of that now…not when Watson is waiting…must think…only…of…Watson…

 _Watson._

"Yes. Of course." Sherlock gasped, coyly unbuttoning his starched collared shirt.

"Fuck me, mate…you're a bloody fit piece o' ass, then ain't you?"

"Dr. Watson…" Sherlock groaned as the petite doctor pushed Sherlock back onto the clinical coffee table. "Wait-I'm…nervous."

"Don't be a bloody tease then, bruv!" Watson groaned. "My dicks 'alfway out, innit, so jist fink pos'ive fings and oi'll…well, bloody hell…oi didn't bring any condoms wit me! Rotten luck, that is, innit?"

"It's OK, Dr. Watson…I'm clean."

"Yeah roight, mate…'ow'm oi sp'osed to b'lieve that rubbish, then?"

"Believe what you will…" Sherlock blushed, desperately wishing he had slept with the gorgeous Shaman Priestess when he had the chance. "But I am very much clean."

"Roight then…let's git on wit it."

A/N: lol end of the chapter plz let me know what you think but also be nice! #Cliffhanger omg like total sex scene cumming up next chapter #dying.

 **Chapter 2**

A/N: So like please go easy b/c this is my first time writing penetration k thanx #sexytimez

Tags: Future MPREG, Over-protective!John, Virgin!Sherlock, Stalker!Sherlock, Water Sports, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes

 _Clear blue water, high tide came and brought you in  
And I could go on and on, on and on, and I will_

Without warning, Sherlock gasped as John's fingers threaded through his luscious black hair.

"Wait…Dr. Watson…I have an idea." Sherlock exclaimed.

"Alroight then, whassit now, Mr. 'olmes?" John gasped, as though his right arm _wasn't_ dripping in scented lubricant.

"There's a communal pool on the third floor…no one will be using it. Maybe we should go there?" Sherlock asked shyly.

"Ughhhhhhhhhh….fuckkkk….'olmes you fuckin' men'al, mate?" John yelled, gesturing to his gigantic erect penis. "Why the bleedin' donald duck would I wanna go t'the bloomin' swimmin' pool?"

"It's just this is my first time and I want it to be special, OK?"

"Yeah, oi guess…oi daan't know wot your problem is let's jist get on wit the bloody fing an' be done wit it, roight." John sighed, but pulled on his boxers reluctantly and then gave Sherlock and hand up off the cherry-wood coffee table.

"Thanks, John. Much appreciated." Sherlock pulled on a sheer bathrobe, and they stepped into 221B's private elevator and the ascended up to the third floor.

Finally, they reached the third floor and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked a pool that overlooked all of London. Sherlock could see where the pool was built onto a large concrete platform that jutted out over Baker Street. Three sides of the eight-foot-deep rooftop pool were made entirely out of glass. Before he had left for the continent, Sherlock had been able to dive down several feet and look across Baker Street. He could watch the oblivious corporate Plebeians three stories below. Beyond Baker street? The glorious London skyline where Sherlock could see the Gherkin standing erect and bulging like an over-stuffed Trojan condom.

"Fuck me, mate but oi'll say ain't dis jist a fan'asic view," John gasped. They stripped down naked, deliciously exposed as lukewarm pool water trailed over their skin like a lover's sweaty caress. They waded out, gripping onto the edge of the glass so they could keep their heads above water in the deeper section of the pool. A few people looked up and gasped at their naked bodies, but Sherlock couldn't notice, too busy looking at John's tan, muscular thighs. "Sherlock, mate, kin you floa' on top of me, you fink?"

"Of course," Sherlock gasped. He let go of the side of the pool and drifted sideways onto John's naked body until he could feel John's erect penis in between his 2 buttcheeks. Without warning, John fucked him hard up against the glass wall of the pool. Sherlock could feel himself cumming at the exact same time John came until, finally, they were floating listlessly in the pool, cocooned in a milky combination of chlorine and semen.

"Isn't it beau'iful, mate?" John sighed, leaning his head against the glass as they watched the sun set over the skyscrapers. A few men in suits were gaping up at them but Sherlock was more concerned with the drops of water that glistened as he watched them trickle over John's masculine shoulders.

"I never get tired of this view." Sherlock said and whispered…John nodded, assuming probably that Sherlock was referring to the sunset when actually Sherlock was referring to John's rock solid buttcheeks.

 _Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again  
And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone_

A/N: Lyric credit goes to my absolute fav artist Taylor Swift u guys have to check her out. If anyone is curious, here's the 221B swimming pool I imagine for #sexytimez #johnlock #Gherkin #Starbuckz

gadgets/slideshows/291366/slide_291366_2325121_


	2. Part II - Rebirth

**PART II - REBIRTH**

 **Chapter 3**

A/N: omg thank u guys for all the views #besties luv my readers plz no trolls #chooselove #haterz k thanx plz comment if u fav. sorry guyz I know sherlock is like somewhat out of character idk #writing

Tags: MPREG, Virgin!Sherlock, Stalker!Sherlock, Domestic, Watersports

Leaning over the side of his bed, Sherlock saw the sun rise as though it was giant fried egg over the crumbling London chimney tops. He saw that his hair was matted and greasy after he had fallen asleep covered in the pool water. John wasn't laying beside him and all at once Sherlock felt a pang of loneliness that he wrote about in detail in the first person in his leather-bound journal:

 _12-8-2016_

 _Woke up today…alone…no…one…was…here. I wore John's shirt to bed last night. It smelt of expired frozen fish and reminded me of the rough vowels of his charming cockney accent. My butt hurts from the multiple rounds of sex that we had in the pool last night but I have NO REGRETS 3 3. #TruLuv._

 _After we boned using the back-end of a plastic pool skimmer, John took my hand and told me he loved me. Obviously I was ecstatic, my feelings for the doctor running deeper than the dark, godless mines of Sierra Leone. Then though….today…to wake up alone? Why? Why did he run? Was I inadequate? Perhaps. Perhaps my virginal lovemaking was not up to par for the good doctor. What now, then?_

Sherlock sighed, putting down his quill. Suddenly, his stomach heaved and he ran into the bathroom and saw he had vomited up apple cider and streams of cum. What was wrong with him? The last time he had food poisoning was after he was lost in the jungle for several days and had been forced to eat the day-old feces of the endangered Brazilian jungle bear. Wiping his mouth, he took a pregnancy test and realized that he was pregnant. How was that possible? (A/N: OK so like not really sure how #TruLuv OK so like plz no flamez k thx)

What would John think of his pregnancy? Would he even care considering he had left so abruptly? How could Sherlock even find John when he hadn't left his cell phone number? Surely, Mycroft would track John down if need be, but Mycroft was at the Opera, bruising the beef curtains with some high-end rent boy.

"Ugh….what should I do?" Sherlock sighed and felt a single tear trickle over his cut cheekbone.

Then he remembered, John was at the pharmacy today picking up children's Tylenol for his practice. There was only one Pharmacy in London that Sherlock knew of, so he showered and put on his black coat and a red scarf and made his way through the water-logged London streets. Passing under the roof-top pool, Sherlock smiled to himself remembering all the amazing underwater blow jobs he had given the night before.

Finally, Sherlock made it to the pharmacy and sure enough found John who he saw was shirtless under his white lab coat. John was talking excitedly to a ginger man behind the counter and Sherlock felt a pang of jealousy. Had John left early so he could talk to the hot pharmacist? As Sherlock crept closer, he soon realized they weren't talking but they were actually arguing about the large amount of children's Tylenol that John was trying to buy.

"Oi, lis'en up mate, tha's too much Tylenol, don't yah fink. Oi 'ate to say, but you's gots to put some o' that back then. Roight now," the pharmacist demanded.

"Come on, Moriar'y, don't 'ate on me loike this. This lot 'ere is f'r the chil'ren, yah kin?"

"Oi, I kin alroight. Jist put some back and we wont 'ave a problem, yeah?"

Sherlock assessed the situation using his heightened sense of deduction. Yes, Moriarty was right 879 bottles of Tylenol seemed too much, even if it was for the children. Now that he took a closer look at John, he could see the doctor's eyes were bloodshot and they was something frantic about the way that he hugged several dozen of the bottles up against his heart.

"John, I think you might be addicted to Tylenol. Let me help you…" Sherlock said.

"Back off, mate. Oi'm fine, OK? Oi don't need you or you're s'upid ways you learn' figh'in' wit the Irish free'om figh'ers down in Belfas', alroight?" John screamed from where he was half buried under the weight of hundreds of bottles of purple Tylenol that made him look like an agitated blueberry.

"John," Sherlock pleaded. "I thought you promised not to let my past come between us!"

"Alroight, that's enough of that." Moriary yelled, stepping out from behind the counter. "You're gonna give back some of them Tylenols, mate."

Sherlock saw Moriarty pull back his arm as though he was going to punch John in the face and sprung to John's rescue. Pulling John through a tumbling cascade of Tylenol bottles, Sherlock stepped in front of Moriarty and felt as Moriarty's fist connected with his delicate porcelain face.

"Oh my god!" Sherlock exclaimed. He could feel blood dripping over his cheek. John gasp in surprise, immediately abandoning his horde to kneel by Sherlock's side.

"Are you alroight mate?" John gasped, gingerly caressing Sherlock's bleeding cheek. "This moight need s'i'ches."

John rummaged through the Home Essential's aisle and came back with a sewing kit. He slid the needle sensuously through his lips to clean it off before sewing up Sherlock's split cheek. Sherlock shivered as the needle, warm from the heat of John's mouth, penetrated his tender skin. The stitching took several minutes, but once they were done, Sherlock saw his cheek in the mirror and saw that John had used red thread.

"You remembered my favorite color!" Sherlock sighed as John pulled him into an embrace.

"'ow you feelin', Mister 'olmes?" John asked.

"I'm fine, John," Sherlock whispered, lowered his eyes so that his dark eyelashes were splayed out across his chiseled upper face region. "I'm just hope Moriarity's punch didn't hurt the baby."

"The baby!" John gasped! 

"Yes, that's why I came to find you," Sherlock murmured. "I wanted to tell you that I'm pregnant with your child."

"Are you sure, then?" John asked.

"Of course! I was telling the truth when I said I hadn't slept with anyone else." Sherlock nodded feverously.

"Oi, fuck me. Oi fink oi'm gonna be sick." John groaned.

"You don't want the children?" Sherlock sobbed.

"No, Mister 'olmes. Oi daan't fink you unders'and me roight now. Oi clearly 'ave a serious pro'lem wit the 'ole bloody chil'ren's Tylenol fing, daan't yah git it? What kind o' father would oi be tah dah li'le tyke if oi 'ave a serious addic'ion? Hmmm…answer me that?" John sighed, pulled away from Sherlock's embrace.

"I don't care what kind of father you'd make, I love you and I want you to be part of our child's life!" Sherlock yelled. "I can't believe you would abandon me like this, John."

"Sorry, Mister 'olmes, I jist can't be part of this alroight." John shrugged, shaking as he pulled the scattered bottles of Tylenol into a bright red shopping cart.

Sherlock fled from the store.

 **Chapter 4**

A/N: #crying #cliffhanger I know plz don't hate me for the last chapter #TriggerWarning for #OccupyWallStreet and #AirportChildbirth

Tags: MPREG, Evil!Moriarty, Confused!John, Pregnant!Sherlock

Sherlock touched down in the Laguardia airport at 5:45 in the morning. He'd spent the entire flight thinking of John and Morarity's fight in the drugstore. He felt sad that John was unhappy about the pregnancy. Already, Sherlock could feel the round pregnancy bump under John's collared shirt which he was still wearing from the aftermath of their lovemaking.

"Howdy Partner, welcome to New York City!" A brutally ugly overweight man wearing cowboy boots who also liked reading and was into scrapbooking in a way that counteracted the traditional American stereotype greeted Sherlock at the airport Starbucks. "What can I get for y'all? Coffee, black? Or maybe you're more of tea fellow."

"Neither please. I'm pregnant, I can't have caffeine," Sherlock sighed, remembered how John had licked the honey spoon before sensuously rubbing the honey over his erect penis the night before. "Can you please tell me where I can find other liberal people?!" (A/N: #feelthebern no flamez plz k #thanx #bernie4prez #2016yall)

"Well now, y'all wouldn't be talkin' 'bout occupy wall street, would you?" The barista asked.

"My dear Barista, that is precisely the event to which I am referring," Sherlock announced.

After getting directions from the barista, Sherlock made his way down to Wall Street and joined the group of protesters. He made a sign about Goldman Sacks and they picketed until late at night. He felt dehydrated and sick from his pregnancy so he ducked into a central park bathroom where he vomited several times into a clogged urinal. Sliding down against the wall, he began to cry, feeling the tears trace delicately over his Adonis-like features like a leaky water fountain.

He ran his slender fingers over his vulnerable, pale British skin and thought about how much he missed John...the baby would never know his father…Sherlock thought as he ran a hand over the growing baby bump and felt a small kick against his fingers.

As he stood up to leave the grimy bathroom, his water broke like a burst dam that had been holding back gallons of yellow amniotic fluid. Panicking as he realized that he was starting to have contractions, Sherlock ran to a payphone and dialed John's cell number.

"Oi, dis is John, who'm oi speakin' wit?" John asked, his voice sounding like music in the dimly lit telephone booth.

"John, it's Sherlock."

"Sherlock! Oi need your 'elp mate, Moriar'y's gonna expose moi addic'ion to Tylenol!" John shouted.

"John," Sherlock said. "My water broke, the baby is coming…I need to fly back to London. I want you there for the birth."

"Mister 'olmes, I wanna be there wit you for the birt' too, if tha'd be alroight." John said, affectionately.

"John, that would be more than alright." Sherlock signed and quickly ran off to book his plane ticket home. When Sherlock touched down at Heathrow he was literally going into serious labor. He felt himself collapse by the baggage claim as John rushed to his side.

(A/N: OK readerz warning for #gore not really sure how childbirth works LOLZ but giving it my best shot so plz no flamez #babiez #Johnlock)

After a lot of pushing and fluids, Sherlock birthed out a child and then another child.

"Croikes! Oi didn't know you wuz 'avin' twins, mate!" John explain. Sherlock sighed, cradling the babies close to his chest as John embraced him in the middle of the baggage claim.

"Neither did I, John."

"Mister 'olmes, oi want nuffin' more than to stay wit you as the fa'er, but oi'm abou' to be sent to pris'n if Moriar'y exposes moi addic'ion. Oi'll survive jist foine in pris'n, but wut about our chil'ren?"

"Don't worry, John. I contacted my brother on the plane ride over. He's taken care of Moriarty. We can finally be together!" Sherlock said happily.

"Oi luv you, Sherlock!" John said.

"I love you too, John."

THE END

A/N: Thanx so much for reading guyz plz review only nice stuff though k thanx #firstfic #Johnlock #MPREG #LuvMyReaders What do you guys think about a sequel?!

See THIS PIC below for the baggage claim where Sherlock gives birth:

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